


Cheater, Cheater

by MultiFandomGirl



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4151250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MultiFandomGirl/pseuds/MultiFandomGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know there are many variations of this story, most of which suck and stop after 5 chapters. I just wanted to write my own version, maybe you can give it a chance. Jace cheats on Clary, and yes, Clary leaves New York, deciding to live her life for herself for a change, not seeking the approval of anyone else. Soon she finds herself travelling, discovering, building herself anew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Jace loves me, Jace loves me, Jace_ loves me.

 

The words had been repeating in her mind for so long now that Clary was starting to feel numb to them. They didn't mean anything anymore. The words were only serving as a cruel reminder to what she had lost. Or maybe, she thought as another crack spread painfully across her heart, a reminder of what she'd never actually had. It had been a horrifying experience, walking into his room to find Jace, in all of his half naked glory, sprawled across the faerie girl that Clary vaguely recognized from Taki's. What had her name been? Katy, Kathy....Kaelie.

 

 _Kaelie._ She'd caught her boyfriend cheating on her, with Kaelie, a long forgotten waitress who worked at Taki's. Everything about it seemed so unreal, so much like a horrible dream that she was soon bound to wake up from. It wasn't like her Jace to do something like this, not anymore, not to _her;_ it left her feeling utterly confused, alone, _lost._ Clary sighed brokenly, resting her forearms on her knees and placing her head tiredly in her hands. And she was tired. After she'd found them, everything else showed like a blur, a hurried and senseless dream, in her memories. She'd run as fast as she could from the Institute, hearing somewhere Jace screaming her name, a nameless sort of agony coating his voice. But she hadn't cared, hadn't dared stop to give him a chance to explain. Because if he “explained”, she might've appeased him in that moment of heartbreak, even if his explanation was nothing short of unacceptable to her usual self. So she'd ran away, and when she could sense him catching up to her in the busy streets of New York (because, yes, she could still sense him in every fiber of her being, and it was torture now) she'd skidded of into a dark and dingy side alley, where the sun didn't even shine through. With nothing but the clothes on her back and her stele in her shaking hands, she stood facing a wall, trying to control her frenzied thoughts for just a moment, so she could concentrate.

 

A portal.

 

She could draw a portal. It was the simplest and easiest form of temporary escape that she could think of. And that was all she needed in this moment; an escape. So, heart beating rapidly in her ears, Clary crouched, drawing a simple doorway against the dingy brick of the alley. _Please work, please work, please work,_ the mantra repeated in her head until she saw the doorway, slowly, like a small burning ember of fire that grew into a flame, start to glow white, forming into a shapeless pathway all hers for the taking. She cleared the tears from her vision and sniffled, pushing her hair back with both hands as she breathed in deeply, trying to calm herself enough to think of somewhere that she could go. Somewhere not in Brooklyn. Somewhere not in the state of New York, for that matter. She couldn't go home, anyway. That was the first place they'd look for her, and she really didn't feel like talking to anyone.

 

“Clary! Clary, please, please, please!” Jace's footsteps could be heard thumping rapidly down the sidewalk, which was the only sign Clary felt she could trust that he was genuine in his remorse. It was ingrained in Shadowhunter training to be silent as a cat, even when running for your life. Some part of him had gone beyond caring about Shadowhunter nature, which was saying something. She looked back over her shoulder at the sounds of his shouts, feeling the urge build inside of her, the urge to run to him and enclose herself in his strong warrior arms, listen to his apologies and accept them. Move on and let his little cheating fiasco live with all of the other dark occurrences of their past, forgotten.

But, no. She had too much self respect to do something so self destructive. The glaze of tears dissipating from her eyes, Clary held her head higher, feeling a sudden new form of bravery soar through her veins. Her train of thought changed, and instead of feeling sorry for herself, she felt sorry for _him._ He was _pathetic_ , stooping so low as to cheat on someone who treated him so well, and now having the stupidity to chase her through the streets, actually expecting somehow for her to forgive him. And he was losing her. _She_ was leaving _him,_ not the other way around. And, oh, she hoped he felt the raw pain, the raw self hatred of that once he realized that she was gone. Just as his footsteps were rounding the corner of the alley, Clary decided where she was going. She looked back at him, eyes still puffy from crying, and smiled. His golden hair was mussed up and his equally golden eyes were wide with panic, already showing her a hint of the self hatred she knew would come. She realized, almost idly, that he needed a haircut. Upon the sight of him, her sadness began seeping back into her bones, so she turned her head, getting a firm grip on the image of the hotel room in her mind, and she stepped through. She felt the familiar fall and spin sensation of the portal, and as she fell she heard remnants of Jace's hoarse screams trailing somewhere far behind her.

 


	2. He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

And so here she sat, two days later, in her dirty little hotel room. The bedspreads alone made her depressed. They were uncleaned, the patterns on them resembling too closely the design of a common city bus seat. The room's lights were dim; she'd had to apply a Sight rune to even see the space in front of her. Clary wondered idly if her mother and Luke were worried for her. They probably were. Shaking her head, Clary stood, moving into the even dimmer bathroom and staring at her reflection. There were dark half-moons under her eyes, and the bright green of them had darkened considerably. Her hair was greasy, and she knew for a fact that her breath smelled of alcohol. When she'd stepped through the portal and into the hotel room, she'd decided that if she was going to run away from her problems, she was going to do it right. She'd gone out and bought whatever looked good at the nearby liquor store, using an Illusion rune to make her seem of legal buying age. She'd found, in the last few days, that runes could be very helpful, especially when you could create them yourself. She knew that the ol' gang back at the Institute would be looking for her, so she'd marked an Untraceable rune onto the door, and one onto the back of her hand for good measure. She stared blankly down at the fading mark, wondering if she should replace it before its effects wore off. She took in a deep breath and grimaced. The first thing she needed to do was take a shower. Her skin felt irritated and oily, and after days of no personal hygiene upkeep, she didn't smell so great. Stripping off her clothes, she reached into the motel's shower, turning the creaking nob all the way to hot. As the room around her filled with steam, she gazed once more at her reflection in the mirror.

_All right, Fray,_ she thought to herself.  _It's time for your pity party to end._

 

*****

 

After making the most of the shabby supplies the hotel had to offer—a rusty men's razor and an assortment of travel sized no-name bath products—Clary stood still in her dirty clothes from before, facing one of the walls of her hotel room. It was early morning, and the lovely sun shining through the windows gave her the little boost of confidence that she needed. Taking a breath, she slowly started to draw the portal, and just like before, it started dim and grew brighter, willing to take her anywhere that she wanted to go. It was so tempting not to go back, to just go somewhere else—somewhere far away where she could start completely anew. But, no. She had things to resolve. Picturing her room in Luke's house, she closed her eyes, and stepped through the Portal.

******

When she landed with a resounding _thunk,_ it was on the carpeted floors of her bedroom at Luke's, just as she'd imagined. She coughed through the mustiness of the seldom cleaned carpet, pushing herself up onto her knees. Looking behind her, she saw that the Portal had vanished, making it seem as if she'd fallen right out of the ceiling. She let out a low, humorless chuckle at the image. Clary stood, making her way over to her closet. She wanted to change into some clean clothes before she did anything else.

Freshly dressed in an old green t-shirt depicting a faded image of Donatello from _The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ and an equally faded pair of jeans, Clary stepped from her bedroom and into the hallway. The house was quite, the only sound being the birds and squirrels outside the window, chirping delightfully and seeming to play tag in the morning dew. But Clary knew better by now; her mother and Luke were in their blood Shadowhunters, meaning that they still stuck to the same strict early riser schedule that Clary had never much taken to. Almost as if in response to her thoughts, she heard a pan clank loudly from the direction of the kitchen, accompanied by a hushed but vehement curse. A twinge of a smile turned up her lips as she made her way down the stairs. She turned the corner into the small kitchen, holding back a chuckle at the sight bestowed upon her. Her mother, engulfed in one of Luke's shirts, stood before the stove, red hair frazzled as Clary had never seen it before. It was a rare sight to see Jocelyn looking so uncollected, and she secretly relished in it. She faintly remembered comparing herself as the Raggedy Anne to her mother's Barbie Doll, and dismissed the thought now with little difficulty. With the things she'd experienced now, after living in the Shadow World and facing blood-curdling demons and demon breeding fathers alike, sulkily comparing herself to her mother's beauty was not Clary's first priority. She cleared her throat, and Jocelyn jumped, spinning around and into a defensive stance, still managing to look threatening even in her current disheveled state. “Surprised you didn't hear me coming,” Clary said into the silence. “Your superhuman senses are getting weak, Mom.”

 

“Clary!” after a few seconds, she broke her stunned stare to rush forward, bringing Clary into a tight hug. Too soon, she pulled back, grabbing her daughter firmly by the shoulders.

 

“Where have you _been?_ Do you realize that you've been gone for _two days_? The Clave was going to send out a search party for you today! Jace said that you two had some kind of fight, and you just left, and of course no one could track you, not even Magnus. I don't know what sort of teenage stunt you think you're pulling, but—”

 

“Mom!” Clary cut her off, not seeing any predictable stopping point of her hurried rant. “Mom,” she repeated, softer, pulling her hands from her shoulders and holding them between hers. Without her heels, Jocelyn was nearly the same height as her daughter, making it easier for Clary to look into her mother's conflicted eyes, a pretty green color that had always reminded Clary of spring grass. “Yes, I did pull a bit of a teenage stunt, and I am so, so sorry for not calling to let anyone know I was okay. I didn't have my phone on me when I left, and didn't have any change for a payphone....” she trailed off, searching her mother's eyes for any sign that she was even remotely forgiven. When Jocelyn said nothing, Clary continued. “Hey, it's about time I pulled some sort of extremely dramatic teenage stunt, don't you think? It's pretty past-due.”

Testing the waters, she smiled tentatively, and—thank Raziel—Jocelyn broke into a grin in response, pulling Clary back into her warm embrace with an exasperated sigh. “I suppose I should consider myself lucky,” she muttered into her hair. “By the time I was your age, I'd joined a cult of deranged Shadowhunters.”

Clary let out a surprised laugh at her mother's bluntness. She usually avoided talking about her dark past at all costs. But perhaps she was learning to accept it, Clary thought. She pulled back once more, brushing back Clary's hair with motherly concern. “But you can't just do these things, Clary. Not with everything that's happened. Okay?”

Clary knew this. She nodded her head, her eyes directing themselves to the tiled kitchen floor. A cool finger titled her chin up gently, and she was met with her mother's caring gaze. “Honey, what happened?” she asked, an undercurrent of befuddlement coating her voice.

“Mom—” How could she explain this? “Mom, Jace cheated on me”? “Mom, I'm heartbroken”? “Mom, I just had to get away from it all”?

“Mom, he doesn't love me!” she exclaimed brokenly in a sudden rush of emotion, a gasp escaping her as she said the words she'd been thinking all along. She heard the sound echoed by her mother, and collapsed back into her chest, sobbing uncontrollably. She was hardly comforted by the soothing murmurings flowing from Jocelyn's mouth, but she held her tighter anyway. The heartbreak was almost a relief after days of such horrible depressed numbness. She'd thought that she and Jace were solid, that he was her _always._ He'd felt like always. But apparently, he hadn't felt the same way about her, and that realization more than anything else shattered her into pieces.

 


	3. Pancakes and Nostalgia

Clary sat breathing purposefully steadily at Luke's kitchen table, a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea clutched firmly in her hands. If she was being honest, she was drinking it partly because she knew that Jace absolutely despised bergamot, the sweet herb that the tea was made with. But mostly, she knew, she was drinking it because _she_ loved the taste of bergamot, and had no mind to care what Jace liked or didn't like anymore. She held her head a bit higher at her own thoughts. She'd been a mess before, sobbing big snotty tears into her mother's shoulder for nearly half an hour before Luke had come down the stairs, eyes widening at the sight before him. He had come forward and given Clary an attempted comforting pat on the shoulder, before promptly turning on his heel and fleeing the scene. His awkwardness had brought her partially out of her depression, long enough at least to explain in broken parts the last few days to Jocelyn. Clary had almost winced at the lack of surprise in her mother's eyes; she'd never liked Jace, Clary knew. And it still hurt her to know that. Even though he was an utter scumbag, and she _hated_ him right now, and he'd left her heartbroken....Clary still cared. She still loved Jace just as much as she had before, and she doubted that the feelings would ever fade. At least on her part, what she and Jace had was unforgettable. 

Though apparently, she thought grimly, it was by no means incapable of being tainted.

Presently, her mother was bustling around in the kitchen, now fully dressed. She wore ripped, paint splattered overalls over an old t-shirt, and her hair was in a haphazard bun, held together by a graphite pencil. An instant, aching wave of nostalgia came over Clary at the sight, recognizing suddenly the artist she'd known her entire life, instead of seeing the hardened, brave Shadowhunter that had seemed to take her place, leaving the old Jocelyn behind like a shed layer of skin. She almost wished she could live forever in this moment from the past, but she resolutely shook her head to herself, remembering that she had other plans that, with any luck, she would make happen today.

She chuckled lightly, setting her mug down on the table to cool and crossing her arms across her chest. “What are you doing, anyway?” she asked, wishing she had the ability to raise an eyebrow skeptically. That was another thing she was going to do if she accomplished her goal, Clary thought. She was going to learn how to raise one of her damn eyebrows without looking constipated.

Jocelyn sighed, throwing down the frying pan in frustration. Clary noticed that the counter was smeared with what appeared to be bits of egg yolk. Jocelyn angrily held up two burnt crisps which Clary assumed were supposed to resemble toast. “Well, I was  _going_ to make breakfast for Luke,” she pouted. She aimed the blackened pieces of toast towards the garbage can, and they landed with a heavy thunk that Clary thought should never be associated with bread. “But apparently I failed.” 

Clary vaguely remembered being told that Shadowhunter women had, in the last few decades, been focused more on honing their battle skills than perfecting their culinary expertise. An image of the green, fishy bile that Isabelle called “homemade soup” rose to the forefront of Clary's mind and she cringed at the memory. She stood, walking to the stove and readying the pan. She was not going to let her mother take after Isabelle's cooking habits. No way.

“Mom,” she addressed her, happy that she was actually teaching someone else something for once. “Just watch and learn.”

  
  


**/**

  
  


Reclining on the couch, Clary closed her eyes, resting a hand to her full stomach. That eighth pancake, she reflected, may have been the straw that broke the camel's back. After thinking for a moment though, she remembered the impending doom of her failed relationship, and decided that she had fully deserved it. Her mother, reclining in much the same position beside her on the sofa, huffed appreciatively, a faint astonishment tingeing her tone when she spoke. “That was an amazing breakfast, Clary! When on earth did you learn to cook?”

“I get bored sometimes.” she replied simply, closing her eyes. Even through closed eyelids she could sense her mother's curious stare. She waved a hand tiredly. “YouTube,” was the only further explanation she offered. She kept her eyes shut, content for the moment to sit in the peaceful darkness. After another long moment of silence, Jocelyn spoke again.

“Clary?” she inquired.

“Hmm?” Clary responded, snuggling back into the couch.

“You're going to be okay,” her voice was soft, but sure. Clary sighed, opening her eyes and sitting up to face her mother.

“I know I will be.” she said, wondering if now was the time to bring up her suggestion. It was something that, she admitted somewhat ruefully, she was going to follow through with no matter what it took. Even if Jocelyn hated the idea, it was going to happen. But how did she bring something like that into the conversation? She had to be tactful, convincing, diplomatic.

“I want to leave.” she blurted unceremoniously, looking decisively into her mother's eyes. Well, so much for that plan, she mused idly.

“What?” Jocelyn sat up, perching herself on the edge of the couch. The look she gave her made Clary gulp, but she kept on.

“I want to leave. As in, leave New York. So many things have been happening, so quickly, and I've never had any time to get away from it all. I just need to leave, only for a little while.” It was true. From the moment she'd seen Jace kill that demon boy in Pandemonium a year ago, her life had been in action, not once slowing its pace to give her time to breathe. And now that there seemed to be a small break in the threats to their lives, she wanted to leave. Take a vacation. 

Jocelyn cocked her head to the side, deliberating. “Well, I suppose we could go up to the farmhouse for the weekend if you'd like. I just have to see what Luke wants to—”

Clary sighed, irate. “No, Mom, you don't understand. I don't want to go to the farmhouse with you!” she caught Jocelyn's flinch, and sighed, softening her tone. “Or with anyone. I just really need to be alone for a while, figure things out by myself.”

She threw everything she had into pleading, not breaking her earnest stare. “So, then, what are you considering?” Jocelyn asked.

“I'm almost seventeen,” Clary began, figuring she ought to remind Jocelyn of this before she went any further. “I was thinking that I could take a trip. Around to places I've never been, around the world. Enjoy life while I can. And I _know_ that you think I'm too young to be on my own, but...” At Jocelyn's skeptical look, Clary said, “Isn't that what Shadowhunters are _supposed_ to do? Live life to the fullest and do things while we can? Because of our lifespans?” 

Jocelyn recoiled a bit and Clary cursed herself. But it was true. Clary was well on her way to becoming a fully functioning Shadowhunter, which meant she had to act like one. She remembered how Alec and Magnus had taken some time off to tour Europe together, and were still off on their little adventure, as a matter of fact. If only she were a year older, it would be much easier to persuade her mother.

“I could even take someone with me, someone you trust. Simon, maybe?” though she really wanted to be alone. But Simon would make a fine companion, she knew. “And I promise to take care of myself, and call you and Luke five times a day, and I'll even check in with the Clave periodically so that you know that everything is okay.”

Jocelyn's eyebrows were furrowed in deep thought, and Clary stayed quiet for a few moments, not wanting to disturb what may be her only chance. Finally, she sighed, running her hands down her face wearily. “I cannot believe that I'm saying this, but....I suppose if you—”

Clary threw her arms around her, wanting to get up and dance with the excitement coursing through her veins. She couldn't believe her mother was actually saying yes! “Oomph! If you absolutely promise—swear on the Angel, Clary—to follow through with all the things you just said you'd do, then...you can go on your trip.” She finished, patting her daughter's shoulder blade.

Suddenly Clary drew back, holding her mother by the shoulders and staring meaningfully into eyes so much like her own. “I, Clarissa Fairchild, swear on the Angel Raziel, that on my trip, I will call you and Luke multiple times a day, check in with the Clave when necessary, and take extraordinary care of myself.” she grinned beatifically. “But,” she said, her grin fading. “Do I have to take someone with me? I'll be fine on my own, and I'll stay at Institutes whenever I can so I won't be alone all the time.” 

Without a word, Jocelyn shook her head. “No, I suppose you don't, but you must be extremely careful! Or else,  _I_ swear on the Angel to drag you back here and ground you until you are thirty.” 

Clary highly doubted that was possible, but she wasn't going to underestimate Jocelyn Fairchild. It certainly wouldn't be in her best interests to do so, not right now. Jocelyn sighed somewhat sadly, pushing herself to her feet. “Stay here,” she said, moving to go up the stairs. “I have something for you.”

Clary nodded, too distracted with thinking of all the places she would finally be able to go to. The only time she'd been out of New York in her life had been their recent trip to Idris. And while stunningly beautiful, the place didn't hold the fondest of memories for her. Her mind annoyingly showed her an image of Jace, going to town on Aline's lips, Jace kissing Clary in the grass below a hill, Jace, Jace, Jace.

Before she could knock her head against something hard and blunt, Jocelyn came strolling down the staircase, an envelope in hand. “Here,” she said, handing it out to her—were her hands shaking? Clary hesitantly reached out for it. The thing was stuffed, and heavy. She opened up the loose paper flap and—found a wad of cash. A stack of hundreds, fifties, twenties, all together as big around as a small book. She gasped low, her head snapping up to look at her mother with surprise.

“I'd been saving up for you to go to college—I always thought you'd go to Julliard someday. I took it out of the bank soon after I woke up from the coma...when I realized there was no way you were ever going to go back to mundane life.” she smiled ironically, as if she'd known all along that her daughter would never settle for the blissful obliviousness, the safety of a mundane life. “You were right. You're a true Shadowhunter now, Clary, which means you need to live, as much as you can.” Jocelyn said, and Clary caught the mist of tears building in both her eyes and in the choked quality of her voice.

She sprang up from the couch, the envelope clutched in her hands, and threw her arms around her mother. “Oh, mom,” she murmured, denying the tears building under her own eyelids the access to roll down her face. She'd had enough crying for today. Enough crying for a long time to come. Jocelyn let out a sob—a sob that sounded partly like laughter, and squeezed Clary tighter. Just at that moment, Luke came bounding down the stairs, and as soon as he caught sight of the emotional scene playing out in front of him, with a look of mild terror on his face, he bounded right back up them without missing a beat. Clary let out a laugh—a real, belly tickling laugh.

“Luke!” she called, breaking away from her mother, who quickly swiped at her damp eyes with the back of her sleeve. “Get back down here now!”

He did, moseying down the stairs with trepidation. As soon as he came into sight, Clary ran for him, throwing her arms and legs around him and hanging on for dear life, just like she had done when she was a child. Luke stumbled back slightly, his hands going to her back as he steadied himself. He choked a laugh in surprise. “You've gained some strength there, kiddo.” he said, a sense of fondness escaping through his tone.

“Yeah, well,” she said, tightening her arms around his neck. “Shadowhunter and all.”

He laughed again, and sighed somewhat sadly, wrapping his arms in a bear hug around her tiny body. When he spoke next, his voice was alarmingly low and hoarse, as if he were overcome by a sudden wave of emotion. “Stay safe out there, Clary. And come back to visit sometimes, okay?”

Ah, so Jocelyn must have told him the gist of it while she was upstairs. She hadn't yet taken into account how much she would miss everyone. She would miss her mother of course, because she was her mother. She would miss the ever-protective Luke with his glasses and his books and the way he was always there to help her, to comfort her. To be her father.

She would miss Isabelle, as crazy as she could be, with her lethal attitude, and a whip always wrapped around her wrist. And she'd miss Alec with his tattered sweaters and awkwardness, and Magnus with his blue sparks and odd sense of humor. And Simon, her best friend in the world; his sarcasm, the way she felt when they reminisced on old childhood memories. She would even miss Jace a little (or a lot) despite that he was the main reason she was leaving. She was going to miss the company of all the friends she'd made in the Shadow World, but she told herself to stop being a crybaby about it. She would see them again, could even come back and see them whenever she felt like it during her trip, using a Portal rune.

“I will,” she said to Luke, hearing her mother sniffle behind them. “I absolutely will.”

  
  


 


	4. Best Friends and Other Trust Issues

**Hey guys, I'm so sorry! I thought this story had been at least updated to chapter 4! Anyway, here it is.**

**/**

Clary didn't leave right away; her mother and Luke had insisted that she at least stay for that night's dinner, (which Clary helped with) and she wanted to have time to savor the house around her anyway, savor the feeling of sleeping in her own bed for the last time in the foreseeable future. And besides, she had more people to say goodbye to than just her mother and Luke. So after dinner (because she knew he wouldn't be able to eat it and didn't want to upset him) she called Simon, reclining back against her pillows and nervously twirling a piece of red hair around her finger. He picked up after two rings. "Clary?" his voice was laced with relief. No anger, no accusation. Just relief, and a little hint of confusion.

"I'm okay, Si." she said, knowing that it was the first thing he'd want to hear. She heard him expel a long breath on the other side of the line.

"Thank G—" Simon choked and then cleared his throat, correcting himself immediately. As if she wouldn't notice his slip. "That's good."

There was silence then, though it was a comfortable one. After a moment or two, she heard him sigh. "Clary, what happened?"

She almost mimicked his sigh in response. She wished she'd recorded her first explanation to her mother, no matter how pathetic it sounded, and could play it back for anyone who asked that question. She'd already grown tired of reiterating it. Instead, she thought of another way to do this. She glanced towards her window, watching as the last light of the sun dipped below the horizon. "It's almost nightfall," she said, realizing too late that nightfall didn't particularly matter, with him being a Daylighter and all. "I'm at Luke's. Come over?"

"I'll be right there." Simon said.

**/**

Ten minutes later, Clary heard the clack of a pebble hitting her window. And then again. Rolling her eyes, Clary got up from her bed and opened her window, just as another pebble came flying at it. She ducked out of the way and it went past her shoulder, landing somewhere in the room behind her. "Really, Simon?" she said, scowling only slightly. The aforementioned vampire came walking out of the shadows, snickering.

"I thought you'd appreciate the cliché." he defended.

She couldn't help but grin a little at his ridiculousness, and reached forward, grabbing his arm. "Very poetic," she said. "But just get inside, will you?"

"Ooh, _scandalous._ " Simon gasped, and Clary pinched his arm hard before tugging him forcefully inside the window. He clambered through, landing face first on the carpet in much the same fashion as Clary had when she'd Portaled there that morning. She took a moment to shake her head at his prone form before extending a hand down to help him up. _What intimidating vampirical grace_ , she thought sarcastically. Simon popped up, his brown hair askew, still holding onto her hand. He tugged her lightly toward her bed, seeming to suddenly notice her somber expression. He pulled her down onto the bed with him, stealing one of her pillows to prop himself up beside her. "Ready to spill your guts yet?" he asked, though his tone was carefully gentle. Clary exhaled slowly, cocooning herself in a blanket as she laid down next to him.. "Yeah," she said, looking up into the earnest brown eyes of her best friend. "I am."

Roughly thirty minutes later, the room was once again quiet, and Simon was staring straight ahead, blinking hard. "I'm going to murder that asshole."

Clary wasn't so sure that he was joking. Unlike human Simon, vampire Simon was a bit more fierce, and though he wasn't fearless, he was much more willing to charge head on into combat to defend something he cared about. Clary sat up, lightly touching his arm. "Simon, don't." she reprimanded softly.

He turned to her, shifting his weight on the bed and making the ancient springs creak in protest. His mouth was set in an unnaturally tight line. "Why not, Clary?" he snapped. She winced slightly, though it went unnoticed by an angry and ranting Simon. "He's an asshole, and he _cheated_ on you! On you! He never deserved you in the first place, and I knew it. I always _knew_ that something like this was going to happen and _you_ were going to get hurt! And he deserves it, so why the hell can't I? It's not like I'll get hurt or anything." he said, moving back his hair to reveal the Mark of Cain. As if she needed a reminder of what she'd stuck him with.

Angrily, she knocked his hand out of the way, watching as his hair fell to cover it once more. She kept hold of the hand she'd just assaulted, squeezing it between both of hers so he'd know the seriousness of her words. "Because, I still love him." she said, watching the befuddlement spread over his features. "I still love him _so much,_ and even if it hurts like hell, I won't let him get hurt on my watch."

Simon's features were devoid of his previous fury, but his brow was furrowed with confusion. He cocked his head to the side. "How?" he asked, in a hushed sort of tone.

"How what?"

"How can you still love him, Clary? After all that you guys have been through, he just cheats on you like none of it meant anything to him. Like _you_ meant nothing to him. How can you possibly forgive him?"

Clary felt tears glazing her eyes, and she wiped at them hurriedly, not willing to cry again. Simon cursed under his breath violently, drawing her in to rest against his chest. She went into his arms willingly, seeking the comfort of his familiarity. He rested his chin on top of her head. Clary felt his voice reverberate through his chest when he spoke. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm an idiot for saying that stuff to you, especially right now."

She shook her head against the fabric of his t-shirt, which she realized idly said "Byte me", with a depiction of an intricate computer chip below the words. If she weren't on the verge of tears, she would have laughed and punched him in the arm. "You're just trying to protect me." she said instead.

It was quiet for a few moments, and Simon heaved a great sigh and tightened his arms around her. "So, what are you gonna do now?" he asked. That was the question, wasn't it? Clary mused. She knew where she was going, roughly, but what was she going to do?

_Here goes nothing._

"I'm leaving." she told him, quietly and simply, almost wishing that his vampire hearing wouldn't quite hear her. No such luck.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa." Simon exclaimed, interrupting the silence jarringly. " _Leaving?_ " he sat up, moving her so she looked directly into his eyes. His expression was nonplussed, mouth hanging slightly open. He looked as if he didn't know exactly how to react.

Clary nodded, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah. I talked to my mom and Luke about it and...I'm going out on my own for a while, leaving New York."

Simon seemed to do a double take. "On your _own_?" he exclaimed, sounding disbelieving. Clary wondered with an ounce of annoyance if all he could do was repeat things, like a parrot.

"Yes, Simon. I'm leaving New York. On my own. And there is not one thing you can do to stop me." she raised her chin defiantly in his sputtering face.

She saw in his eyes that he wanted so badly to blame all of it on Jace. And before he could, she spoke. "And, Si, it's no one's _fault_. I just need to get away. From all of this." she waved her hands around, trying to encompass everything, as in _her life._ Simon frowned, shaking his head and wrinkling his brow in consternation. "At least let me come with you. To protect you." he attempted weakly, sounding like a child who couldn't go to the park no matter how many times they pleaded.

"No, Si," she sighed, grabbing hold of the hand that was now laying limp in his lap. "I need to do this by myself. And besides, I _can_ take care of myself." she added, smirking a little. He gave her a very skeptical look at the last part, and she abandoned holding his hand to punch him fiercely in the arm. His eyes bulged a little in surprise, and he rubbed his arm.

"Damn, woman," he said, his tone slightly wounded. "I guess if you can injure a vampire with an arm punch, maybe you can take care of yourself."

She smiled, nodding her approval before snuggling back down into her blankets. She glanced up at Simon, who was still sitting against the headboard. His gaze grew suddenly distant and sad, and he looked down at her. "So, I guess this is the last time I'm going to see you, then?" he asked, and his voice broke slightly, even though he tried uselessly to cover it up by clearing his throat.

Her heart broke into pieces. She was going to miss Simon so much. She couldn't remember what life was like without his company. They were two parts of a whole, a unique sort of best friends that one found only once in a lifetime, if they were lucky. She pulled him down with her, and he curled one hand under his cheek, the other under his ribs. It was the way Simon had always slept, ever since they were children. Clary could remember so clearly their sleepovers, and she wished for that sort of childish happiness back some days. "No, of course not," she said softly, almost crooning. "I'm only leaving for a while, a year at the most. And I'm going to come back to visit you all the time, I swear."

He held up a pinkie pitifully. "Pinkie swear?" he mumbled.

She locked her pinkie finger with his, giving it a firm shake. "Pinkie swear."

They sat there in silence for a moment, pinkies still laced together and resting on Clary's brightly colored bed sheets. "After a while...you know, after I get all my shit sorted out, I'd even like for you to come with me, to travel with me. If you want to."

He looked up to meet her eyes. "Me?" he said, voice laced with faint surprise. "Not your mom, or Luke, or Isabelle or someone?"

She scoffed, slapping him so lightly on the cheek that she barely even touched him. "Of course _you,_ idiot. You're my best friend."

Simon grinned brighter than the sun, taking her hand and holding it in his own. "You're the idiot." he quipped back immaturely.

"No, you are."

"Hmm, no. You."

"Simon!"

They collapsed in a minor fit of giggles, laughing at their own stupidity.

"We're both idiots..." they muttered simultaneously, which earned a few more chuckles.

Clary turned on her back, staring at the plain looking ceiling. She really should have painted something on it, she thought. Maybe a big mural of angels and weapons and Nephilim, like the one that was painted on the ceiling of the Institute's infirmary. She could still remember her first days there so clearly—waking up to Isabelle's frankly horrible nursemaid skills, sipping on one of Hodge's pleasant concoctions, following the sound of Jace's piano playing as if in a trance. Jace...

She sighed, turning her head to face Simon, her mouth moving before she laid eyes on him. "I don't forgive him—" She cut herself off, letting her voice trail into a whisper. Simon's eyes were closed, and he lay slack and relaxed against her mattress, looking to be peacefully asleep. He stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering halfway open. "Hmm?" he murmured. "Forgive who?"

"Never mind," Clary said, unwrapping herself from the blanket and using half of it to cover Simon up. "Just go back to sleep."

Simon shook his head, a frown appearing on his tired face. "No, tell me." he slurred half-coherently. Clary sighed. "You asked how I forgave Jace. I don't, though. Not yet."

Simon nodded, seeming content, though she thought she heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "stupid mother ducker" as he snuggled his way down into the blankets offered to him.

"Hey," he said drowsily with his eyes still closed, his eyebrows wrinkling and his lips pouting slightly. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

She laughed lightly, wondering how she could have said no with him already snuggled up under her blankets, practically already dreaming. "Yes, Simon," she said. "I was going to ask you to stay, anyway." He smiled and drifted off, his face going slack and his lips slightly parting. She got up easily so as not to disturb him, and carefully removed his shoes, not wanting him to track dirt all over her clean sheets. Though, she wondered why she cared, when she wouldn't be sleeping there anymore after tonight. She flicked off her lights and moved into the bathroom to change into her pajamas and brush her teeth, putting her hair up in a loose bun as she walked back towards the bed. Simon's arm was stretched out across her side of the bed, and she lifted it up, climbing under it and letting it fall back onto her waist, seeing as his unconscious self wasn't willing to leave it neatly tucked under his ribs. He mumbled something incoherent and curled his arm around her, bringing her in forcefully to rest against his chest. It hadn't ever bothered her before; they'd found themselves in this position since childhood, and every time they woke up at sleepovers they were huddled in each others arms. But now that he was a vampire, and had the strength of one, it made her huff as she slammed against him. She readjusted her position and breathed in his scent, letting a nostalgic smile cross her lips as her eyes drifted closed. "Goodbye, Simon." she whispered, just before sleep took over, and she was shrouded in peaceful darkness.

**/**

When Clary woke up the next morning, Simon wasn't there. In his place was a slip of paper that looked like it had been ripped from one of her sketchbooks.

_Mornin' Biscuit,_

_(Sorry, too Magnus-y? Yeah. Never trying that one again.)_

_Anyway, I left before you woke up cause I didn't want to say goodbye again and besides you looked kind of serene while you were drooling all over my arm. Super gross by the way, thanks. CALL ME! ALL THE TIME, FRAY, I MEAN IT! I'm going to miss you a lot, and if you're gone that means I have to deal with all these idiots by myself and that's more terrifying than you think. You better follow up on your promise to take me with you on your trip around the world at some point, too. I'll be here patiently waiting._

_PS: your mom kind of walked into your room super early and just kinda backed out suspiciously. Make sure to tell her that nothing you know, happened. I'm sure she knows but have fun telling her anyway._

— _Simon L. aka your best friend in the universe_

Clary shook her head, laughing at the depiction of a smiley face with fangs accompanying his signature. How very disturbing, and very Simon. She wasn't even going to bother telling her mother that nothing had happened between the two. Simon was overreacting. Both of their mothers had walked in on them in those kinds of positions all their lives, and it never posed a problem, simply because they were Clary and Simon, and that was just how it was.

"Clary?" There was a faint knock against her bedroom door, and her mother peeked in. "I've just talked to the Consul. She said that she'll be there soon. If you'd like to...say your goodbyes, you might want to hurry."

Clary nodded, clearing her throat before she spoke. "Alright, um...I'll be down in a few minutes. Will you drive me?"

"Of course."

"Thanks."

Jocelyn might have noticed the hint of sadness in her daughter's tone, because her voice softened and she said, "I know this was your idea, but if you're having second thoughts...you don't have to leave. We could all go somewhere together." Clary could hear the hopefulness in her mother's voice, but she shook her head, offering her a bland smile.

Jocelyn only nodded her understanding and backed out, shutting the door with a soft click. Clary sighed into the empty air, and pulled a suitcase out from the depths of her closet. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten to pack. After getting dressed and washing her face with record speed, she threw a few things in her suitcase, picking out her favorite shirts and shoes that she wanted to keep with her. She picked up her sketchbook off of her bedside table, flipping through the pages, admiring the sentimental pictures—the bright Brooklyn skyline, a drawing of Simon, his brows furrowed as he tuned a guitar, a picture of the New York Institute, one half of the drawing showing the glamoured image the mundanes saw, the other showing the true grandness of the place, spires reaching like talons into the sky. There was a drawing of her mother and Luke, eyes locked across the table, drawings of Isabelle, whip coiled in her tightened fist, drawings of Magnus, his cat eyes sparkling along with the rest of him. Her drawings were her memories, moments in time that she wanted to remember always. Flipping towards the front, she came upon a page that made her give a soft gasp. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten about this drawing. It was a drawing of Jace standing atop the Dumort building, wings spreading out in a beautiful arc behind him. She had captured the look in his golden eyes _perfectly,_ so superior and graceful, and inhuman. She remembered their brief encounter with the angel Raziel at Lake Lynn, and could agree that she'd seen much the same look in the angel's eyes as she'd always seen in Jace's. She guessed the angelic blood did show itself, after all.

Shaking her head as if dismissing her own thoughts, Clary tore the drawing out of her sketchbook, folding it and stuffing it into the front pocket of her jeans. She tossed in her sketchbook and pencil case on top of the stack of her clothes, and up zipped the suitcase, extending its handle and setting it on the floor. She sighed as she looked one last time around her bedroom, before turning out the lights and closing the door behind her with a sound that, to her ears, rang with a sort of indecipherable finality.

**/**

**That's all for this chapter, folks! Review!**


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